


papa don’t preach

by manbunjon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Daddy Kink, F/M, Wildlings - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-12 17:56:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13552605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manbunjon/pseuds/manbunjon
Summary: written forjonsa kink week// day five: daddy kinkA hint of a smile was forming on her lips. “I missed you too, daddy.” She murmured. The words made his stomach tighten. He would never admit that to her.





	papa don’t preach

Jon hated that she was here. He hated how the other men looked at her, how their haughty eyes followed the gentle sway of her hips, how they whispered about her when the night was dark, bawdily commenting on her tits and how her nipples were probably soft and pink and perfect for sucking.

He hated how the cold air made her pale skin glow soft pink and how the look was so endearing that it took every ounce of self-control for him not to lay her against the wall and kiss every inch of her each time she passed him in the corridor.

The King-Beyond-The-Wall had called an audience. He and Mance sat at the table at the front of the room, discussing news and strategy, yet all Jon could see or think of or smell was Sansa.

She was sitting at the far end of the room with Dalla, the furs draped over her shoulders so large that they engulfed her from chin to ankle. He smiled softly to himself at the memory of her, knelt behind a brush in the clearing, her fingers wrapped around her bow as she notched an arrow. He had kneeled beside her, watching as her brow furrowed and her teeth sunk absently into her bottom lip as she concentrated. Her arrow had struck the heart of the bear and it had roared but she had barely flinched, firing three more arrows, enough to knock it to the ground.

Sitting now beside Mance Rayder Jon ached to touch her, to run his fingers through her crimson mane and nose at her breasts until he could once more lay back between her thighs. 

His wish was granted soon after the meeting, when he had returned to his tent to be joined not long after by Sansa, who slipped inside the small apartment without knocking.

“Mance bid I ask if you desire anything, m’lord.” She said, curtsying gently. It was not the first time she had done so, the only Wildling he had ever known to have the manners and courtesy of a proper Lady.

Jon did not speak for a moment, brow furrowed. “Did he send you here to warm my bed?” 

He realized his mistake as soon as the words had passed through his lips. Sansa flinched and took a step backwards, the wolf within her flaring. “How dare you.” She said. Her voice was calm but no less dangerous, her water-coloured eyes flashing. “I am no whore.” 

“I apologize.” Jon said. “I did not mean... I am just…”

Sansa took another step closer. “You are angered.” Said she. “I understand. But you will never call me a whore again, m’lord, or you will not again have the opportunity.” 

He bowed deeply to her by way of apology and took her hand softly. “I missed you.” In her presence he was as weak as a green boy, bowing and scraping and begging her courtesy.

A hint of a smile was forming on her lips. “I missed you too, _daddy_.” She murmured. The words made his stomach tighten. He would never admit that to her. 

“Come here.” He ordered. 

For a moment he feared she would not obey him but he was filled with relief at the side of her crossing the room, coming to stand so close before him that their bodies brushed together. Her arms encircled his neck, pulling his head to meet hers so that he could once more claim her mouth, as sweet and supple as he spent the previous weeks dreaming of. 

“Tell me.” Her lips brushed against his unshorn cheek, feeling the hair there that he had yet to shave. Sansa had once told him that she liked the look, commenting that it made him look a true Wildling. He had not touched knife to skin since.

“Tell you what?” he murmured, so completely engulfed by the spell she seemed to cast over him that he could barely speak.

“I can see your mind working. Tell me what you want.” 

“I missed you. Your…your…” he cleared his throat, feeling as though his mouth had been stuffed full with cotton. “I missed your…” he nearly choked. “-your lips.”

Her mouth quirked, her tongue dragging across his bottom lip so that she could taste the wine on his lips. She could feel his body meld against hers like iron pouring into forge, the stress easing from his shoulders as it often did with her touch. 

“Tell me what you missed about them, daddy.” she said, blinking up at him with those blue eyes. 

“The way they…touch…me…” 

“Touch you _where_ , daddy.” She prodded. 

If it had been anyone else Jon would have turned and walked away, brooding, and palmed himself off in the cold darkness that night to ease the tension in his body. But it was Sansa. _His_ Sansa.

“You know where.” Jon said gruffly. The feel of her body against his had caused him to stir and he was acutely aware of the fact that she could feel his hardening cock pressed to her belly. She shifted purposefully, the friction of the movement making him groan. 

He took her hand, leading her to the cushioned bench one of the men had dragged into the room to help fill the empty space of the tent. Pulling her into his lap Jon let out another moan, Sansa’s hips jerking upwards against the growing bulge in his breeches. His hands fell to her waist, guiding her movements, feeling her move to follow the rhythm he had set. 

“You feel so good.” Jon breathed. She had settled herself in a new position, her legs resting on either side of his hips, the hand that fell to her lower back guiding her forward. “Sansa. You feel so…” he trailed off, interrupted by a soft gasping moan. 

Her hair had come free from the loose braid she had twisted and it fell over her shoulder, tickling his face. “I missed your cock, daddy.” 

The words sent an illicit thrill through him and before he could suppress the sound another moan erupted from his clenched lips. She smelled so sweet, his nose nuzzled against the crook of her neck, his cheek leaned against her collarbone. 

Taking a cue from Sansa he continued, feeling half awkward, half bold. “Have you thought about me?” 

Sansa ignored the gruffness of the words and answered without pause. “Every night.” The answer had been satisfying enough and yet she continued, his stomach flipping at the sound of her words. “Every night in my chamber. When the door is locked and the rest are asleep.”

“Do you…” Jon began, his mouth suddenly going dry. The words felt so incredibly foolish that he wanted to force them down and never speak of them again. He shifted her slight weight in his arms, her hips sweet torment as they moved against him. “Do you touch yourself when you do?” 

Sansa did not miss a beat, jerking her hips upwards again. “Every time.” She said. Jon had already been close to his release and the words had only pushed him further, the way Sansa grinded herself against him enough to make him moan almost uncontrollably. 

“Say it again.” he ordered. His hands had slipped down to grip her arse through her furs, pushing her further against him. 

“Every time, daddy.” She whispered, her hips writhing. Her arms were around his neck, holding her to him. “I always touch myself when I think about you.”

Jon met his peak with a loud groan that he did not even try to suppress, his jaw clenched as the orgasm tore through him, from the toes of his booted feet to his head, his eyes pressing firmly closed. “Gods.” He groaned, a moment later when he was still struggling to hold his breath. “Gods, Sansa.” 

She kissed him lightly, tenderly, his lips parting. He could feel the wetness spreading across the base of his trousers that made his face burn with shame. He felt like a boy again, when he had first learned the pleasures of touching himself and before he had realized the shame of it all. 

Sansa stayed still for a moment, feeling Jon arms close tighter around her, as though unwilling to release her. “Mance is expecting me.” said she, struggling to stand from their awkward position. Jon lifted her easily, the weight of her body feeling insignificant to him after so many years of training with an iron sword and shield, and set her on her feet. 

She smiled up at him, a pale hand reaching up to cup his cheek, lingering for a moment too long. He knew then. “You’re leaving aren’t you?” he whispered. The words felt heavy in the air. 

She looked up at him, respecting him well enough not to lie to him. “Aye.” Said she. “Before your return to Castle Black.”

“It is goodbye then.” He returned. He hated how he felt, the pit of his stomach feeling as though it would fall out of him, his heart clenched in his chest like she truly did have her hand wrapped around it. 

“It is, your grace.” 

He cleared his throat. “Well…ride safely.” 

She smiled. “I am sure we will see each other again.” 

They both knew it was a lie. Jon watched as she crossed the room, straightening out her cloak. She paused, her hand reaching for the lap of the tent. She turned back to him, her lips quirking into the smile that made his stomach seize. She whispered, “goodbye, daddy” and left him behind.

**Author's Note:**

> this is HORRID. i’m so sorry for those who read this.


End file.
